


To err is human

by Televa



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur-centric, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Behavior, Character Study, Depression, Drinking to Cope, Family Issues, Gen, Hopeful Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecurity, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of War, POV Male Character, Suicidal Thoughts, arthur shelby needs a hug, mentions of gore, seasonal depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Televa/pseuds/Televa
Summary: In the war that had been all asked of him, to kill and kill and kill without a second thought, the killing eventually becoming a part of him, almost like a second nature. And then the war had ended and he had been assumed to be capable of stopping it all, like he was a machine with a switch in his back.Things like that are never easy but he tries. Jesus fuck he tries so hard. He will fight, will do what’s right to protect his mismatched family he’s sworn to protect, and if he loses himself in it, fuck, who could dare to hold it against him after everything’s he’s done. Blame is something he knows his way around, after all.
Relationships: Arthur Shelby & Finn Shelby, Arthur Shelby & Tommy Shelby
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	To err is human

**Author's Note:**

> So uuhhh yeah. Turns out characters with a good heart and rough exterior and who are emotionally constipated are my weak spot. 
> 
> After binge watching all of PB in like a week, the tragicalness called Arthur Shelby lives in my head rent free. So naturally I had to write a little bit about him and his thoughts which brings us here.
> 
> If you find any typos etc please let me know as English isn't my first language.
> 
> Have fun!

A Sunday night like this finds Arthur alone in his small living room, nursing a glass of whiskey in his hands. The day had been surprisingly uneventful, the Shelby clan having a family dinner at Polly’s new house. The dinner had served as an official way to celebrate Michael’s new position at the company. Even though they all had had fun time together, for once sans any business and unwanted guests, Arthur’s mood had dropped drastically after arriving home just before nightfall.

It could be the season, he reasoned, as sunlight was sparse and Birmingham was wrapped in tight darkness most hours of the day.

The family get-together had been a much needed event as the occasions to all of them sit down and spend time together were so rare nowadays with the business blooming and the days being filled with workloads that Arthur was certain grew every day. Watching his family joke and laugh together and finally having a fucking break had made Arthur happy too, his smiles growing wider and more honest with each passing minute together. After everything they’ve been through all of them being alive was a fucking miracle.

Tommy might be in charge but Arthur's the older brother, the one who's only mission was to keep the family safe. Growing up it had been Arthur who had protected his younger siblings from their father's wrath, hugging them close in the small bed he shared with Tommy and muttered over and over again how it will be better soon, _the old bastard is just drunk and will pass out soon_. John had been a mere baby back then, not yet past of babbling bare incoherent words. Nights back then had been long and deadly silent, only the voice of their anxious breathing breaking the silence in the small room. 

It’s all in the past now, their mother is long gone and the asshole of a man called Arthur Shelby Sr has vanished into the vast lands of American wilderness.

Arthur gulps down the last few drops of whiskey and looks outside. It's pitch-black out there, not a single snowflake to be seen anywhere despite it already being late November. He fixes the record player, the slow jazz filling the living room with its soft tunes once more. Being alone in silence is unnerving; it makes his skin itch, even the smallest creak making his heart beat faster, his fingers already reaching out for the gun. Needing any kind of background voice to breathe is no wonder after the life he’s had, after long years of falling asleep in the middle of a battleground. 

Half of their lives were written in scars, now hidden by three-piece suits and mockingly sweet chivalry. The Shelby brothers were all gentlemen, after all.

There are times when he thinks about their mother and the way Tommy speaks frankly when deep in drunken stupor. _It runs in the blood_ had Charlie said once and the more Arthur thought about it, the more right it felt - it was almost comforting in a way to know the way you go beforehand. Familiar, even. In the end it runs in the blood, right?

The world has left him a scarred beast of man, a barely recognizable hollow shell of the man he once was. In darkness lies times when he wishes he’d have the courage to try once more but immediately rejects it. He is still needed by his family, the work he started is nowhere near finished. 

He had founded the Peaky Blinders, cast the foundations of their work with dozens of meetings held with the bar keepers and workers and anyone willing to listen, promised protection when he barely had enough men to run a bar, but slowly, oh so excruciatingly slowly it all had been worth it: the Shelby family runs an empire now, their business spreading through three continents. Any of it wouldn’t have happened without those first negotiations held in the dead of the night.

None of it would've happened without Arthur and he really couldn’t wrap his head around that fact after all this time. After Tommy took charge of everything Arthur had kind of become the underdog, the one who dirtied his hands by command when needed. It suited him better than he thought, avoiding the spotlight gave him more space to move around in. Guns and violence were not foreign to him, hell, he’d spent most of his adult life dealing with gruesome, terrible things that left him numb, the ghost of pain the only thing rooting him in reality. During nights like those time itself moved differently, his world consisting only of the pain, of the taste of whiskey in his mouth and the smell of gunpowder in his nose. 

He was not a god, a travesty of a saint at most. Nights like those leave him yearning for a higher power to end it all but not yet, never _not yet_. He has work to do, responsibilities to fulfill.

He is still needed.

Just because death isn’t an option quite yet doesn’t mean he won’t stop looking for it. Protecting his family is his duty as the eldest, and to protect is to fight, and every fight could end up being the last. At least that’s what happened to the poor sod who challenged him and so many before him. There have been so many occasions when he’s done the dirty work by somebody else’s command, by his own command like a cheap mercenary. Beaten men, mutilated men, killed and murdered men, he has experience with all of them. In the war that had been all asked of him, to kill and kill and kill without a second thought, the killing eventually becoming a part of him, almost like a second nature. And then the war had ended and he had been assumed to be capable of stopping it all, like he was a machine with a switch in his back.

On, off.

Killing, no killing.

Things like that are never easy but he tries. Jesus fuck he tries so hard. He will fight, will do what’s right to protect his mismatched family he’s sworn to protect, and if he loses himself in it, fuck, who could dare to hold it against him after everything’s he’s done. Blame is something he knows his way around, after all.

The grandfather clock in the living room strikes two hours past midnight and Arthur is startled back to reality. It’s Sunday night and most of Small Heath is fast asleep sans the few night shifters working outside his house. In all sense he should be asleep too, for as the sun rises so do the Peaky Blinders.

But the sleep hasn’t found him yet and probably won’t find him this night at all, so Arthur refills his glass once again and sinks back into the surrounding silence.

There is a new generation on it’s way, a generation that will be protected from the brutality of life. He sees it in their eyes, in the way they’re still so infuriatingly naïve. Michael is new to them, the lad trying to find his place in the family that was lost to him. It’s so obvious he looks up to Arthur like a little brother would, tries to hide his adoring looks and the way he pays attention to every single word he says like it mattered the whole world. They have their differences with Finn, yet they’re so similar in their youth.

Finn, already 17 yet with hints of baby fat in his cheeks, is still a child in his eyes. Just a kid who grew up in a world where nights were interrupted by nightmares of mud and blood and mutilated bodies rotting in fields of smoke. Arthur can see in his eyes the determination to prove himself to his brothers, to prove he's a true grown-up Shelby capable of handling himself. He tries so, so hard but struggles exactly like Arthur did, but unlike Arthur he will succeed, will triumph. The future of the Shelby company lies in John and Finn and Arthur is certain they will keep their legacy alive. After all, only fools are satisfied and neither of them is one.

The right time isn’t now, probably not for many years to come although nothing is of certainty. They just have to make sure Finn won’t repeat their mistakes but learns from them, learns to be the best version of himself. To err is human, they like to say, but in this line of work to err is the same as death. There is no room for mistakes or miscalculations, simply none. 

But he had made so many mistakes in his life, how could he assume pristinity from others when he was so flawed himself? They all think so highly of him despite all of that. He gave their father the money while knowing what kind of a man he was, momentarily so high on his praise and pride. He had fucked up terribly and still they forgave him and dared to put their trust in him, to put their lives in their hands and trust he will keep the balls in the air like some kind of a fucking master juggler. 

Sometimes, when the situation is right and Finn has that particular look of a Shelby, Arthur sees a ghost of himself in Finn’s eyes and it leaves him mildly terrified. Finn was the baby of the family, their evening star and a part of Arthur wants to keep it that way forever, to let their baby brother have the innocence of childhood. But Finn is his own man, their legacy. He has to grow up and learn to walk in his and Tommy’s shoes. Polly’s, too.

As Arthur walks to the window to look out, the neverending raining of the past week has finally changed into proper snowing. It won’t take long for the ground to be overall covered in gray slush as the snow mixed with coal and filth of the streets. 

Arthur breathes slowly in, out. In, out. This night will pass just like the nights before, and as morning comes he has work to do. These night time musings will be the only witnesses of his pain and scars, the well hidden insecurities flushed away with the first rays of sunrise. It has always been like this, it will always be like this. The world works in a different way during daytime, and that’s when he needs his armour. A dapper suit and sleek hair can hide a lot if one knows how, after all.

His hides his shame.

As the window glass reflects him and he looks himself in the eyes he discovers a surprisingly fiery look in his eyes. 

“This, too, shall fucking pass,” he says to no one particular and closes the blinds. He switches off the lights and leaves a half empty glass of whiskey on the table as he walks upstairs. Once in the bedroom, he turns the small radio on and gets beneath the covers.

At the end of the day he’s still Arthur fucking Shelby, the founder of Peaky Blinders. Anybody who has a problem with the beast having a little bit of humanity left can kindly fuck off.

_And that’s by the orders of the Peaky Blinders._


End file.
